Bloody Hell
by BlueRoseRabbit
Summary: Parentlock, post-fall-reunion, Johnlock. One-shot. Sherlock's daughter Margo gets her period while John is away, and Sherlock has absolutely no idea what to do at first. Margo thinks she's dying.


_For those of you desperately waiting for an update on my work-in-progress fics, don't fret, I'm finishing those chapters right now. This just demanded to be published._

_Inspired by a post on Instagram and written with the encouragement of several users._

_Warnings: Menstruation. Feminine products. Pain. Blood. Discussions of feminine body parts and functions and other things that make many people uncomfortable. Sherlock being clueless about loads of stuff because it never mattered so it was deleted from his brain._

_Also, I've heard that British people call undergarments "pants" and then the stuff you wear on your legs "trousers". I'm just going to call "pants" underwear for simplicity since I doubt that many people care which is which. Just try to keep that in mind, neh?_

* * *

Sherlock became aware of his surroundings when he was suddenly slapped in the face.

"What the hell- Margo!"

Sherlock would've scolded her further, but he choked on his words when he realized his adopted daughter was crying.

Margo Evanna Watson-Holmes was 4'10", twelve years old, and female, with long, wavy white-blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. There was a faint smattering of freckles on her face, and her ears were pierced- She was quite fond of the skull earrings Sherlock bought her for her tenth birthday. Today she had on a turquoise knit jacket, white shirt, and a long brown skirt.

"You didn't- I yelled for you and you didn't hear." Margo said, trying not to sob. "I'm sorry, Daddy, I shouldn't have slapped you, but-"

"Couldn't you have gotten your father?" Sherlock asked while his eyes flickered over her rapidly. There didn't seem to be any physical wounds, she hadn't been attacked, she hadn't been injured at all- Had someone said something to her? It wouldn't have been Lestrade's son, he was on a field trip at his school today (Margo was home-schooled).

"Father is taking care of Aunt Harriet, he told you yesterday when he packed up and left." Margo sniffled patiently. Living with someone for six years made you accustomed to their strange habits, such as zoning out in a "mind palace" for long periods of time. She normally fended for herself if Sherlock couldn't be roused.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock said, cutting to the point.

"I'm bleeding," she whispered in a scared voice.

Sherlock sighed. "In the bathroom medicine cabinet-"

"No," Margo interrupted, "not normal bleeding. I'm bleeding..." She paused, her voice lowering to a whisper again. "_Down there_."

Sherlock blinked. "What?"

"There is _blood_ leaking out of my _vagina_!" She exclaimed forcefully, becoming slightly more loud, voice cracking. Her expression turned to one of terror. "Dad, am I dying?"

Sherlock seized her by the shoulders, overcome with the idea of her death. "_No_," he said emphatically, "you are _not_ dying. There's a logical explanation for this that does not involve your death."

"What's the explanation, then?" Margo asked, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

Sherlock let go of her and leaned back in his armchair. "Are there any bloodstains around the house?"

Margo blushed. "On my bedsheets and my underwear. I'm wearing a new pair now with tissue paper in it."

"Alright then. Go strip your bed and take the stained clothing and sheets to the bathtub. We'll deal with them later."

Margo nodded and ran off to her room to do so. After she was gone, Sherlock raced through every corridor and room in his Mind Palace, trying to figure out what on earth could be wrong with his daughter. He could find no explanation for the unnatural bleeding and cursed John for abandoning him during this time of need (though, to be fair, John had no way of predicting that this would happen).

Margo came back to Sherlock. "I'm done. Do you know why I'm bleeding?"

Sherlock's lips pressed into a tight line. "No," he said after a moment, "I don't." Seeing her look crestfallen and scared, he quickly continued. "However, John has a laptop, so we can easily look it up and figure out what is going on."

"Father took his laptop with him when he left," Margo informed him, and Sherlock's eyebrow twitched in irritation.

"Fine," he muttered, "we'll go to the library and look it up. Get your shoes on and fetch me my scarf," he commanded, getting up to pull on his coat.

"Alright." Margo did so, and the two left to catch a taxi.

Margo adopted her parents' ability to sit absolutely still in stressful situations, and neither her nor Sherlock spoke or moved during the taxi ride. It unnerved the driver a little (_half Irish, cheating on his wife, scared of cats, had donuts for breakfast this morning, druggie_) and he didn't even ask for payment; he just sped away with a strange expression on his face. Sherlock brushed it off, though Margo seemed rather worried about it.

"You don't think he could somehow tell about the bleeding, do you?" She whispered fearfully.

"No," Sherlock assured her absentmindedly, "more likely he recognized me and was afraid I'd deduce his meth addiction."

Margo couldn't help but laugh a little. Sherlock gave her a confused look before walking into the building. The two went to one of the computers and Sherlock opened Google up immediately.

"Oh, Dad, I think they have some of the John Green books in!" Margo said excitedly when a nearby shelf caught her eye. "I'm going to go look."

"Mm," Sherlock murmured distractedly. He typed rapidly, '_My daughter is bleeding from her vagina. What do I do?_' The results loaded.

He wanted to swear. What the bloody hell was this all about? Some of the results were '_HELP! My 10 month old baby has blood coming from her vagina_' and '_Baby girls can bleed from their vagina?!_' and '_my doughter is 8 monthes old and had a vaginal bleeding_'. That definitely was not what was going on here. Margo was twelve years old.

He tried again with a new search. '_vaginal bleeding medical conditions_'. He clicked links for '_endometrial cancer_', '_polyp_', and '_uterine fibroids_'.

_Endometrial cancer: Cancer that forms in the tissue lining of the uterus. Most endometrial cancers are adenocarcinomas. Symptoms: vaginal bleeding after menopause, bleeding between periods, an abnormal, watery or blood-tinged discharge fro-_

Sherlock stopped there. Bleeding between periods of what? What period of time did things naturally bleed? What was a 'uterus'? Also, Margo had never been through 'menopause', whatever that was. John would've mentioned it. Besides, Margo would've said if it was a watery and blood-tinged fluid that leaked from her genitalia. She said 'bleeding', so bleeding it was. He clicked over to the polyp tab (though he did not close the endometrial cancer one).

_Polyp: abnormal growth of tissue projecting from a mucous membrane. Commonly found in the stomach, colon, nose, sinus(es), urinary bladder, and uterus. Can be inherited or non-inherited._

Sherlock used the 'Ctrl' and 'F' keys, then typed in '_symptoms_'.

_Colon polyps are not usually associated with symptoms. Occasionally rectal bleeding, and on rare cases pain, diarrhea, or constipation may occur because of colon polyps._

Nope. Next.

_A cervical polyp is a common benign polyp or tumor on the surface of a cervical canal. They often show no symptoms._

Margo was bleeding, and that would normally be considered a 'symptom', so no. Sherlock closed the polyp tab and went to the uterine fibroids one.

_Uterine fibroids are noncancerous growths of the uterus. Many women do not know that they have them since they often cause no symptoms._

Again, Margo was bleeding. Not this one, either.

Sherlock huffed in frustration and closed out the tab. The only thing open now was the endometrial cancer tab, and he'd already looked through that. This wasn't helping at all.

"Dad, did you find anything?" Margo asked as she approached. Sherlock clicked out of the internet browser and shut the computer down.

"No," he said with a hint of frustration, "but I know that it's not endometrial cancer, polyps, or uterine fibroids."

Margo blinked. "...Okay."

Sherlock looked at the book in her hands. "Are you checking that out?"

"Yes," she said. "Can I borrow-?"

"Take my card," Sherlock offered. Margo nodded and took his card to check out her book. Sherlock remained in the chair with his hands steepled beneath his chin, thinking. What on earth was wrong with his daughter?

Margo had a pained expression on her face when she walked back to Sherlock. "Can we go now?"

Sherlock stood up and strode away in response. Margo hurried to keep up. She was a good fourteen inches shorter than her dad, so her legs were not as long as his, and though she was a fast girl, he could be much faster. Sherlock whipped out his phone as he went, sending a quick text to John.

_When are you coming back?_

He got a text back a moment later: _Why, do you miss me?_

Then another: _Oh, god, what have you done? Please tell me you haven't blown something up in one of your experiments._

Feeling miffed at John's assumption that he couldn't function properly without him here, Sherlock decided not to mention Margo's little problem. He could figure it out just fine without John's help. _We're just fine on our own here, thank you very much. I was just planning the shopping._

_You, planning the shopping? What has this world come to?_

Sherlock became even more miffed and decided not to reply. He shoved his phone in his coat pocket.

"Alright, Margo, we'll just have to catch a taxi back to Baker Street. We have to wash the bedsheets anyway." Sherlock said.

No answer.

He spun around, eyes searching the crowded streets. "Margo?" She was not behind him. "Margo, where are you? Margo!" His daughter, with her easy-to-spot white-blonde hair, was nowhere in sight. When had he lost her? Where? Had she been kidnapped? Had she been distracted by something and wandered off? No, she was a clever girl, and she was twelve years old now, not six. Where was she?

Sherlock whipped his phone out and dialed Mycroft's number.

* * *

Margo moved her head, looking up from where she was leaning against a building in pain. She had started feeling a cramping sensation while checking out her book, and it had only gotten worse until a sudden pang halted her ability to walk. She had doubled over, biting her lip, and now Dad was gone. He must not have noticed her.

Well, that was just great. She was bleeding, in pain, and lost, too. Fantastic. Tears welled in her eyes and she tried to blink them away. She was a mature twelve year old now! She couldn't start crying just becau-

A black car suddenly pulled over in the street next to her. She saw two men get out of the car, but she couldn't tell who they were since there were crowds of people walking on the sidewalk. They approached her, and Margo braced herself for a fight. They could be kidnappers. She ran through weak spots in her head: eyes, nose, groin, floating ribs, neck.

Then she noticed that one of them was using a black umbrella as a walking stick, and she sagged in relief as Uncle Mycroft and one of his lackies walked over to her.

"You've given your father quite a scare, Margo," Uncle Mycroft chided gently as he looked her over "Why are you-?"

Another pang made her wince. "I think I'm dying, Uncle!" She cried out, throwing herself at him and bursting into tears.

* * *

Sherlock paced the flat anxiously. Mycroft said he would find her, but the CCTV cameras don't pick up everything, and what if he didn't find her? Where was she? John was going to kill him...

His phone rang. Sherlock opened it faster than ever before. "Have you found her?" He asked urgently.

"Yes, she's here in the car with me." Mycroft answered, and Sherlock hadn't felt love for Mycroft in seventeen years, but this feeling he had now came pretty close.

"Let me speak to her," he demanded, and he heard Mycroft murmur something to Margo. The phone transitioned to someone else's hand and then he heard a tearful "Hello?"

"Margo, where were you?" Sherlock asked sharply.

"I lost sight of you." Margo said with some hesitation.

"How could you possibly lose sight of me? You were right behind me, and I'm quite easy to spot in a crowd, as your father is so fond of saying. Don't lie to me, Margo, it doesn't work."

Margo's next sentence was rushed. "I was in pain and I doubled over and I lost sight of you and it hurts and_ Daddy I don't want to die_."

Sherlock's next scolding died in his throat. "It'll be alright," he said weakly, and then he heard the phone change hands.

"We're coming in now, and you're going to tell me exactly what's going on, Sherlock." Mycroft said threateningly, and then he hung up. Sherlock sat down in his armchair and put his head in his hands, groaning. He felt a headache coming on. One minute incredibly grateful to Mycroft, the next minute ready to strangle him. Margo was _his daughter_, dammit, he could handle this.

_No you can't, idiot,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like John muttered in the back of his head.

He heard the light footsteps of Margo on the stairs and the two heavy footsteps plus one the tapping of the umbrella coming up the stairs and he stood up again with his hands in his trouser pockets. His coat and scarf were hung on the back of the door, but he was still wearing his shoes.

Margo burst into the room, but she didn't run immediately to Sherlock, as he had expected. Instead she collapsed on the couch with a groan and curled up into a ball. Sherlock abandoned his 'cool and collected' pose and rushed to her side, putting a hand on her forehead to check for fever.

"Now, what's all this I hear about 'dying'?" Mycroft asked in a stern tone that barely concealed his worry.

"I don't know!" Sherlock yelled, losing his temper. "Something's wrong with Margo and I'm not a doctor!"

"Why don't you take her to one, then? Or call Doctor Watson? I'm sure he'd come back from his sister's straight away if he knew something was wrong with her." Mycroft asked in a patient tone.

"That was my back-up plan. We just went to the library to do an internet search to see if whatever's wrong with her is treatable, but I couldn't find anything," Sherlock admitted bitterly as he moved his daughter over so he could sit on the couch with her. She curled up next to him and he wrapped an arm around her protectively.

Mycroft didn't even bat an eye at Sherlock's open display of affection toward his daughter; he was used to the unexpected by now. He just sat down on John's armchair and lay his umbrella across his lap. "Why don't you tell me what makes you think something's wrong?" He said with surprising gentleness.

"She's bleeding." Sherlock said shortly.

Mycroft frowned. "That can't be all. You wouldn't be so worked up if she had just gotten a cut."

"She doesn't _have_ a cut, Mycroft." Sherlock said with irritation. "She's just bleeding. She woke up and she was bleeding."

"How can she be bleeding if there's no break in the skin? Is it a bruise type of bleeding?"

Sherlock gave him a withering look. "I know it's not endometrial cancer, polyps, or uterine fibroids, but I couldn't narrow it down much more than that."

There was a moment of silence while Mycroft recalled what those three things were. He suddenly connected the dots and turned pink in the face. "Oh."

Sherlock's gaze sharpened. Mycroft's current flustered state was incredibly unusual. "What?" He demanded. "What is it? What have you figured out?"

Mycroft put his head in his hands briefly and Sherlock's heart stopped for a moment. It must be bad. Margo was going to die, that's why Mycroft looked upset, he knew his niece was going to die and now he had to break it to Sherlock-

"She's not dying, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, and Sherlock let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "She's going through puberty."

The famous consulting detective blinked. "_What_?"

"In every young girl's life," Mycroft began, sounding like he dreaded what he was about to say, "there comes a time when she becomes of childbearing age."

"I'm twelve years old!" Margo protested, speaking up for the first time since she came in the room.

"Childbearing age back in the medieval days," Mycroft amended. "In order to prepare for a possible child in the womb, every month the lining of a girl's uterus builds up, and if no child...is fertilized, then the uterus must get rid of all of the old lining it doesn't need. It does this by shedding the wall, which causes girls to bleed for about a week. Then the process starts all over again and the girl will bleed again a month or so later. This continues every month until a woman is about fifty or sixty years old."

"Fascinating," Sherlock said, eyes alight with the knew knowledge.

"Oh, god." Margo groaned in despair.

"The pain is brought along by the muscle walls of the uterus contracting or something of that nature." Mycroft said, standing up. "I'd recommend going out immediately to get some painkillers and..." His nose wrinkled in distaste. "Feminine products."

"What kinds of products?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft looked at him with exasperation. "I don't care. Pads or tampons. Maybe a celebratory ice cream cone? Sherlock, don't text me for another three days. The situation's getting quite bad in- Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" Mycroft smirked at Sherlock. His smile turned gentler when his gazed focused on his niece. "Good day to you."

"Bye, Uncle Mycroft. Thanks for dropping me off." Margo said with a weak smile.

"It wasn't any trouble at all," he lied, and then he left.

"Well," Sherlock said after a moment, "time to go to the store."

Margo groaned. "What if instead I just lay here while you clean the sheets, and then when I feel better we can go to the store?"

Sherlock gave his daughter a look.

"Please, Daddy?" Margo gave him a pitiful look, blue eyes wide.

He sighed. "Alright. Let me up."

Margo gave a soft cheer and moved over so he could stand up. "Will you pass me the remote for the telly?" She asked, and Sherlock gave her another look, but he tossed it to her anyway. She reached her arm out and caught it mid-flight, then turned it on and went to the DVR to find her favorite show.

Sherlock went to the bathroom and got the sheet and underwear out of the tub. Sherlock had seen blood before, so he wasn't grossed out by the stains. He put the plug in the tub and turned on the cold water. He let the tub fill up and then threw the bedsheet and her underwear in. He walked back to the kitchen, ignoring the sounds of exorcisms coming from the telly, and looked through the cupboards for about five minutes before yelling, "Did John move the hydrogen peroxide?"

"It's in the cabinet to the right above the sink!" Margo yelled back.

Sherlock opened that cabinet and grinned a little bit at the hydrogen peroxide sitting on the shelf. He took it back to the bathroom with him. He drained the tub of water, letting the soaked sheet and underwear lay in the empty tub for a few moments before pouring all the hydrogen peroxide into the tub. He walked out of the bathroom after drying his hands, and then he put the empty container in the recycling and set a timer for fifteen minutes.

Sherlock decided to go back to working on the case he had been pondering before Margo slapped him this morning. He went up to his and John's bedroom (Sherlock's old room. Margo had gotten John's and refurbished it) and reclined on the bed.

"Margo, when the timer goes off, take the sheets out of the tub and hang them on the hook to dry." Sherlock yelled.

"Alright," she yelled back, and then Sherlock was in his mind palace.

* * *

The next afternoon found Margo and Sherlock wandering around the store, looking for the section where these so-called 'pads' and 'tampons' were kept. It took them about ten minutes to find the place, and then a few minutes more to decide which thing to get.

"It's like choosing between a diaper and a cotton stick," Sherlock muttered so that Margo wouldn't hear.

Eventually Margo ended up choosing the pads because she was not ready (or willing) to have Sherlock tell her step-by-step how to put something _in_ her vagina.

Checking out was incredibly awkward. They were receiving some weird looks while in line from other shoppers (maybe Margo should've been holding the box instead of her dad). The brown haired, zit faced teen at the counter raised an eyebrow when Sherlock slammed the box down in front of him, but then he noticed Margo shuffling her feet awkwardly behind her dad, and the teen flushed and quickly rung them up.

"Will that be all, sir?" The boy asked nervously.

"Yes, we've got enough painkillers at home to kill three elephants," Sherlock said as he payed the man. He snatched the box up and strode away, long coat billowing out behind him. Margo hurried to keep up in a much less dramatic fashion.

Once they were home, Margo took the box to the bathroom so she could use the pads. They way to put them on looked fairly straightforward, so Sherlock was downstairs pondering a case.

* * *

"Daddy, come sit down and watch a movie with me," Margo said from her sprawled position on the sofa. She was currently on a couple painkillers, so she was a little drowsy.

"I'm working, Margo," Sherlock said as he paced the kitchen in frustration.

"Which case?"

"The Hatherly one."

"It was the window, not the knife." Margo said.

"I know that!"

Margo yawned and muttered, "The little old lady across the street lied to you."

"_Lied_ to me? Lied to _me_?" Sherlock halted in his tracks. Information whirred through his brain as he rearranged things, and he made the connection quickly. "_Oh_!"

"Did you get it?" Margo asked curiously.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said with suppressed glee. Then he paused. "If you knew all along, why did you not tell me?"

"I figured you," she yawned, "knew already. I was just listing the facts again.

"I'm going to meet with Lestrade. Wait here." Sherlock dashed to get his coat.

"Can't you do that after?" Margo begged.

Sherlock paused. The way Margo was now, she'd be asleep in twenty minutes, for sure, and most psychiatrists encouraged parents to spend time with distressed/pained children. Besides, Star Trek wasn't that bad.

He walked back to the sofa and plopped down next to Margo, who snuggled up to him and hit play on the remote.

Margo was asleep in fourteen minutes and twenty one seconds. Sherlock eased himself away carefully and creapt off to fetch his coat and scarf.

Before he headed out to the street, he rapped on Mrs. Hudson's door.

"Keep an eye on Margo for me, will you?" He said as he looped his scarf around his neck. "She's sleeping upstairs."

"Just this once, dear, I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson said with a small smile. Both of them knew it would never be "just this once." Margo was like a granddaughter to the landlady.

Sherlock gave her a peck on the cheek and headed out. He knew how Hatherly was murdered, and now he got to make fun of NSY. Fantastic!

* * *

Sherlock's phone rang while he was studying some plant matter he found on his shoes. He let it ring three times before answering. "Sherlock Holmes."

"What are you experimenting on? It must be boring for you to have picked up after the third ring."

"John. How goes?" Sherlock asked, ignoring John's question.

"I have good news. Harry is doing much better, and I expect to be back within the next three days. How's that Hatherly case going?"

"I solved it. That old lady, do you remember her?"

"Yeah."

"She killed him."

"What?! No."

"Yes. She was lying when she talked to me, but she didn't know she was lying. She's insane. She was a killer in her thirties but stopped when she got married. Hatherly invited her in for tea and she chased him until he jumped out of his open second story window, though he held on to the edge. She smashed the window down on his hands and he let go, falling to his death. She had tucked the memories somewhere far, far away by the time she got back to her house." Sherlock explained.

John whistled. "Wow." There was a pause, and Sherlock heard Harry's yelling.

John yelled back, "Alright, alright, I'm coming. Hang on a minute!" Then, in a normal voice, he said, "sorry, Sherlock, I've got to run. See you soon, alright? Love you."

"Love you too," Sherlock said, and then John hung up.

* * *

"Father!" Margo exclaimed in surprise when John Watson walked into their living room. "I didn't expect you back til tomorrow!" She hugged him happily.

"Your Aunt Harry was doing alright, so I thought I'd come back early." John said with a bit of strain in his voice. He and Harry must have gotten into a fight again. Sherlock wondered if it was about him this time, as it had been the last time. "Anything happen while I was away?" He continued with foreboding, eyes drifting over toward the kitchen (which happened to be in one piece).

"Margo got her period and I solved a murder," Sherlock said.

John blinked and looked down at his daughter. "You got your period?"

"Yeah," she said sheepishly.

"Alright," John said, and paused a moment, tears pricking behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and then said, "let's go out for ice cream."

"Yes!" Margo cheered while Sherlock said "What?"

"She's just- They grow up so fast, don't they?" John said wistfully, staring into space. Sherlock said nothing and went to fetch his coat and scarf. There was little room for arguing when John got in a sentimental mood.

Besides, Sherlock was feeling kind of sentimental himself.


End file.
